


A Tale of a Man Dying

by Susamo



Series: A Knight of Arkon in 1149 [3]
Category: Perry Rhodan - Various Authors
Genre: Atlan Adventure in time, F/M, The Knight of Arkon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26681287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susamo/pseuds/Susamo
Summary: Atlan da Gonozal in his role as a knight from Toulouse rides to the North, accompanied by his love Alexandra of Lancaster, and his Saxon squire Gromell. The journey, taken upon a small secret road, is expected to be uneventful and safe. But events prove to be otherwise, and the three travelers are compelled to change their plans...
Relationships: Atlan da Gonozal/ Alexandra of Lancaster
Series: A Knight of Arkon in 1149 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1938052
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	A Tale of a Man Dying

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Palatinedreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palatinedreams/gifts).



> I have done my best to keep to historical truth. The princes of Wales are historical, and so are King David of Scotland or Ranulf of Chester. The meeting at Carlisle happened as well, complete with young Henry Fitzempress attending it.   
> Tayac ter Aibhlynne isn't historical, though, and neither is Poins of Lancaster in the role he is playing now.
> 
> Note: all Arkonides have white hair and red eyes. They are the inhabitants of the Star System of Arkon, the center of an Empire containing about fifty thousand planets and outpost upon moons or star stations. Atlan is immortal because he wears the gift of IT, an all-powerful energetic being, his cellular activator which keeps him young and makes any wound heal swiftly. In this story, to avoid the ceaseless danger for the activator to be stolen, the Arkonide wears the small egg-like gadget implanted beneath the left shoulder instead of carrying it on its chain around his neck. He has a so-called logic sector, also named the extra brain, a kind of internal telepathic adviser always heeding logic and reminding his mental partner of dangers. This logic sector was activated after Atlan had passed the tests of the ARK SUMMIA at his home the Great Star Empire of Arkon, and the activation of a photographic memory was also included. Upon Earth, the Arkonides had built a base at the bottom of the Atlantic ocean, the Dome, where Atlan has passed most of the long time of his lonely exile among barbarians asleep. But from time to time he wakens, for example, when danger is threatening Earth or an alien ship is landing. Then his faithful robot Rico will call him up and equip him with everything he needs for the time and place he will go to, including robotic animals like a falcon or a wolf, or a robot in the shape of a horse which can carry him through the air at need. The gadgets he carries else might include a hypno beamer, or a beamer gun that could burn down a whole village, or a skorge tar which might render him invisible to human eyes. But he must be very careful to use such things and refrain from using them all together but in the direst of need because his little barbarians might become afraid of him and might attack him, believing him to be a devil or a demon. Or, as they did in the olden times, they might think him a Faye, a knight from Faery...

A Tale of a Man Dying

They rode on the next morning through the drizzling mist and little sun that kept everything damp and unpleasant. But for Atlan and Alexandra, the sun shone blindingly bright, if one went by the light seeming to shine from their faces and eyes, and the joy singing in their voices as they talked to each other, laughed, and joked. The moment they made a break to water the horses the two used the opportunity to give kisses to each other, light and playful kisses that became deep quite soon. Like in the morning, Gromell thought wryly, when he had woken to unmistakable sounds and had feigned sleep to let the couple have their joy of each other and then smooch undisturbed. He, as the oldest one with seven siblings to help feed, all of them living with their parents in a small hut, had no illusions left about the dealings of man and woman with each other. 

But if this went on like that the journey to the north would be a long one, and surprisingly lonely for one who had no second one to talk to-

This very moment the red-eyed knight turned in the saddle, and his look hit the squire fully, and perfectly knowingly.

“I am sorry to have left you out of our conversation like that”, he simply said, and Gromell was forcefully reminded of the fact that this man had the experience of hundreds of waking years to his credit, and thousands if one counted the years of his life in all. He understood the situation extremely well; and to his credit did something to amend it immediately. And then-he had called the young archer his friend and had trusted him with truth so enormous and unbelievable that it only could be true all through. He had told him who, and what he was, and had told him the story of his origins and his life.

“Let me entertain you with a few songs while we ride.”

They were keeping to a small but well-laid road through the woods that went straight northwards, exactly where they wished to go, and avoided the highways and main roads, where they did not wish to be seen. The red-eyed knight, officially hailing from Toulouse, knew exactly where they were to go, and that was no wonder either with his falcon high in the air, telling him the way in this odd language from the stars, from a world called Arkon.

For this falcon was no falcon, and the wolf running ahead and circling to keep them safe was no wolf, but they were magical animals all made of metal, of the finest steel, harder than any sword. They had minds like men and could talk and were as clever as any abbot. Arrow, the great silvery-pelted wolf was called, while the falcon simply knew what it was and reacted to being called Falco. 

That was no magic, or at least it was no magic the devil had spawned and given to a man who had sold his soul to him to have them. They had been made by the skill and the knowledge of the star folk called the Arkonath by their prince, who was the last surviving man of their kind in this world of men, and who was immortal and thousands of years old. Jesus Christ.

He also had a castle and a palace at the bottom of the sea where he had slept for hundreds and thousands of years, waking in between when he was called up to the land to help the men and women of this world and protect them from any evil that might come to them from other worlds. Jesus Christ and All the Saints.

Because they were there, the other worlds up there, living in the light of the stars as the world of men lived in the light of the sun, these stars as big and bright as the sun was, as the strange knight from Arkon had explained. They only looked small to a human eye because they were just that far away, like a fire that was far away looking small on a hillside. And from up there in the sky others had come now and then, people who looked like humans and could marry them, and have children, and people who did not, and couldn’t, who were ill-disposed to mankind. Demons of hell and evil monsters the bible told of, and fairy-tales spoke of. Those had wanted to enslave all men and take them away and rob the mountains of all their gold and silver and iron. But the strange prince from the Crystal World of Arkon had been there, and hunted them down, and defeated them, and had saved the human people, again and again through all this unthinkably long time.

But not all the visitors from afar had been evil. Some had been good people just lost here among humans like seafarers were whose ship had foundered and sunk upon a strange coast. Such people still lived in a castle up in Scotland, and they were on their way now to meet them and learn of them, hopefully without making enemies of them.  
Some of these, though, had wandered the world and ended up elsewhere, where they married and had children among men and then died like any other man, and such had been his own grandfather who had come from that castle, as Atlan had told him. Jesus Christ and All the Saints and Sweet Mother Mary!

That grandfather had even taken the pains and taught his grandson how to write and how to read, a skill he had had despite his humble state in life. But that teaching and learning had happened when the family had been better off, and he had been little. After Gaffer had died his father could not hold the house and the homestead, and instead had become a fletcher, and his son had followed him in that trade, seldom having the opportunity anymore to read or write, though he hadn’t lost the knack.

Atlan of Arkon, the red-eyed knight, now took out his harp from its satchel and laid a knee across the saddle, and began to play, a funny song about a hunter going awry in the woods, always promising himself that he would find the fattest deer, while in the end he came home with a few meager mushrooms, and found to his luck that his wife had brewed soup where exactly those were missing. They laughed heartily all three after about that story and then were treated to a tale taking place in a country far beyond the Holy Land, where people ate white grain called Fan and ate it with sticks in their hands. The expressive gestures the knight used to describe his first tries of eating that pap that way made them giggle helplessly.

“You are a minstrel indeed, my love, entertaining a whole hall or a few friends on an outing in the woods”, Alexandra said full of pride. “You were right to promise me joy and happiness upon this journey.”

Now that she had decided and acted upon that decision, there was nothing she regretted. She had left her old life behind, she said firmly, and was traveling into her new one together with her beloved man. Better being the lennaun of a knight as glorious and wonderful as this one, knowing so much and being able to accomplish so much, with a strong hand both to wield the sword and play the harp, and a heart so pure one could but love him-at that truly poetic description the young archer’s mouth had dropped open, and the knight addressed had actually blushed-than becoming an old maid, mourning her love she never had dared to follow, sitting by the ashes of a hearth she never had dared light.

Uh-oh, Gromell had thought and then had been doubly surprised when the knight had raised the harp and sung a love song that had a lot of these phrases in it and said that it was a very old Welsh lay he had learned when he was young, making his lennaun smile blindingly.

The squire silently translated “young” into “some hundreds of years ago” and knew that he was right, seeing his master’s wink at him. 

“Yes, it was my Welsh grandmother who told me a tale when I was little, where the princess said that to the prince”, Alexandra innocently confirmed, “And it has stuck in my mind ever since. I believe you quoted part of it to me too when we spoke about what we have done yesterday.”

So he had, the Arkonide marveled, seeing how well his beloved lady had listened to him. She was his joy and his bliss and would be that for a long time to come. He was fortunate indeed with such a lady by his side.

A lennaun, well so. But of course, there was a good reason why his master could not offer his hand in marriage, Gromell thought, and a better one than anyone ever could think of who did not know the truth. Atlan of Arkon was no human, and no mortal, and surely no Christian baptized, and no dutiful believing son of the Christian Church. He was all unconcernedly heathen, and that was the true reason why he shunned mass and had himself made scarce when Easter sermons were held at the abbey. That he knew the bible by rote, on the other hand, was no contradiction. He had what he called a photographic memory, which simply meant that he never forgot anything. Hundreds and thousands of years-that sure made for some memories and tales stored up in that man’s mind!

The sun came out properly at long last and shone warmly, making the many dewdrops sparkle like so many jewels, waking the song of the birds in the wood to a wonderful concert. Singing and joking the three rode on, Atlan on his tall black stallion now while the brave white one had gone to Alexandra, whom it had carried out of danger yesterday. The packhorses trotted after dutifully and did not have to be chided, for the wolf saw to their good behaviour with alacrity as a good sheepdog might.

No sooner had they rounded a bend that they stopped, though. They were about to enter a clearing, and there bird song had gone silent with the incessant moaning of a man lying on the ground, a tired horse standing nearby hanging its head, slowly munching a bit of grass. 

Atlan was down from his horse the next moment, cautiously approaching the man. Why he lay there and moaned, was not a matter for wonder. All around the body lying face down the ground was soaked with something dark, and the grass was bloodied.

Carefully, with Gromell’s help, the Arkonide turned the man to his back and immediately saw that there was no help he could give anymore.   
The man, a strong man in his middle years, by his clothes a squire or a soldier, had been run through by a sword or a short spear, piercing his belly. Too great was the wound and too heavy the loss of blood the man had suffered for him to be able to live on much longer. An Arkonath sickbay would have been needed for that man to survive.  
But the kind of wound also explained how he had held on, wounded that badly, and how he could have gotten as far as this place with no pursuit having caught him.

“The wound must have been received at the end of a successful escape, which he completed and continued”, Atlan explained. “His enemies could not follow him, or he lost them successfully. But he succumbed here and fell from his horse. Not too long ago, early this morning, or the horse would have recovered and perhaps wandered away, and his clothes would have dried up. Which they had no time yet to do. Only his knees and arms are dry where he lay on his belly. That posture also pressed the wound halfway shut, or he would have bled to death sooner. But it will not be long now.”

At the sound of his voice, the man’s eyes fluttered, and he seemed to come to his senses far enough to perceive the presence of people.

“For the love of God-for the love of Mother Mary-help me”, he rasped. His dark brown hair could have been the markings of any kind of folk, Welsh as well as northern or Norman. But the inflection of the voice, though he spoke Saxon English, proved the man to be of northern England, Norman rather than Saxon. Windermere, Lancashire, or the Scottish border, Cumbria-somewhere there the man must come from.

“All I can do is giving you something to lessen your pain”, the Arkonide responded, and got the little flask out swiftly, with the medicine bag brought by Gromell in a hurry. He mixed a spoonful with water and let the man drink slowly. Blood ran out of the dying man’s nose, but he still drank thirstily.

His eyes cleared a few minutes after, the medicine doing its work, and he seemed to regard his surroundings consciously now. Taking a long look down his body he gasped and then sighed. 

“I’m done for”, he murmured. But then, with new urgency, he looked over to his horse.

“Please, help me”, he repeated. “You must help me to get my work done. Hundreds, if not thousands of lives ride on the balance and might be lost if my mission fails. Please, whoever you are, Sir Knight! You cannot be of the enemies on this path. Save the lives of men in peril!”

“Gladly, if I can”, Atlan retorted, putting his arm around the man’s shoulder, and lifting him a little. “Tell me what this is all about.”

“My name is Alan Fitzurse”, the man sighed. A Norman, then. “I am in the service of Lord Ranulf of Chester.”

And now things became interesting, for sure also inextricably tangled with that lord involved. Dangerous the matter in question must be also-the man’s state was proof enough of that. And the claim that thousands of lives might be threatened suddenly had become very probable.

“I see.”

“Yes”, Fitzurse sighed. He even managed to smile grimly. “I am on my way to bring invitations to men of note, to have them come to a meeting of allies-of men who might become allies if they succeed in agreeing. If that can be done, a lot of violence, marauding, and counter-striking could be avoided. It is about to break loose if my mission fails, and the men are not brought to one table.”

“The letters and invitations are in your saddlebag?”

“Yes.”

“Is it obvious where the letters are to be sent to, or is that a secret?”

“The one who can read the letters can send them on. I am to bring them to him.”

“Who to, and where?”

“Lancaster. Its lord.”

Alan Fitzurse was trembling suddenly, a seizure filling his mouth with blood. Turning him had made his wound bleed the more and talking had exhausted him and taken the last of his strength.

With a last effort, he gripped the Arkonide’s hand and stared upward into his face, perhaps only now realizing that the man who had helped him had red eyes.

“Please, get my work done! Save uncounted lives! Please! Please!” he whispered in a failing voice. 

“You have my word that I will do my best to see to it that the letters get delivered and these men come together to talk together. I shall give my help to it that their treaties with each other are closed, and mutual understanding and peace are brought about”, Atlan answered, affected somewhat by the desperate dying plea of the Norman, who tried to smile now while more blood ran out of his mouth, and then with a whispered “May God bless you”, his head sank to the side, and his chest did not rise again after one more gasping breath.

“A good way to die with such words on one’s lips”, Gromell murmured with little respect spared for the dead man. “As for that-whom did he say these letters should be sent to? The lord of Lancaster castle? Can this be true?”

Involuntarily both men turned to stare at Alexandra who stood there white-faced and only mutely shook her head.

“If that matter were not so serious, obviously, and a man had not had to die for it, then I would call this the ravings of a man in delirium”, she murmured. “How can he have meant my father? But that sounded like it nonetheless!”

“It did, yes”, the Arkonide agreed, gently laying down the dead man’s head, and stood. “First, we must learn what this is all about, then we might be able to determine what to do, and how to accomplish it. I propose for us to camp here for an hour and search the body and the horse’s bags thoroughly.”

“And bury the dead man”, Alexandra sighed.

“No, we’d better leave him to the next clement soul coming this way.”

Gromell and Alexandra stared at each other surprised, and then at the suddenly so ungodly knight with frowns.

“This seems to be a matter of some political impact”, Atlan explained patiently. “Someone was after this man and killed him-several people, I’d say, from a faction which wants this treaty and agreement to fail. It remains to be seen whether Alan Fitzurse’s assessment of the situation was correct. But that many lives are at stake with the civil war about to break out once again I believe.”

Alexandra gasped, and Gromell bit his lip.

“If I am right then these murderers are on the search for their escaped victim, and might very well end up here, finding the corpse. The fewer tracks we leave the better. If we take nothing but the letters and leave no trace of ourselves, who then is to say what became of these letters, and where they vanished to? Fitzurse might have hidden them before he died. He might have met his man and handed them on. He might have been robbed by illiterate farmers who came this way, or by robbers ready to sell the letters in a little while to whomever it may concern. The same might happen if a noble, able to read those letters, found them on the dead man’s body. If we bury him though, tarrying too long, we might be caught in the act, and everyone will know that it is us they must ask for the letters. I’d like to avoid that.”

“Aye”, the squire murmured, while Alexandra only nodded. Her eyes were hooded; apparently, she was thinking hard whether the dead Norman could have told the truth about her father.

“Second matter, as important, and no less tricky”, the Arkonide went on. “The lord of Lancaster castle. Evidently, you have had no inkling ever of such involvements of your father, my love.” Despite the serious matter they were discussing he sent her a tender look, and she responded with a quick impish smile before she became serious again.

“No, not to my knowledge. But- “she took a deep breath. “There was much I never was told of, still being treated as a child. I know that my father writes letters regularly and has them sent, and on my question simply told me to mind my own matters since that was men’s business, and secondly that it was just letters to our relatives in Wales and in the north. Despite his impoverishment and his looser ties, the relationships no longer close and direct, my father keeps his contacts and ties to our northern kin in Lancashire, and in Wales where my mother’s mother hails from. My great-aunt Angharad was a more frequent visitor to Lancaster castle when I was younger, and my mother had just died. Our castle was an inheritance of grandmother Maislyn, moreover.”

“I see.” Atlan rubbed the back of his nose. “Let us keep in mind that this Norman here could very well have come from Lancashire; and just north to Lancaster there is Cumbria, where the master of our dead man is entrenched lately, at Carlisle.”

The three people exchanged glances.

“There are other reasons too why I would believe that word of Alan Fitzurse. This path that we are traveling on.”

“Why, it leads to Abergavenny castle!” Gromell threw in.

“Yes, if one veers off or comes in from the west, as did we”, the Arkonide retorted. “But if one follows the path straight it leads on past Abergavenny towards Lancaster. I know because I have had a look at the maps of the priory at Abergavenny. “

Which was not entirely true. Those maps had told too little. Falco the robot had been able to add the data which now proved vital.

“You mean, my love, that traveling down this lane we might go straightway to my home?” The young woman was shaken. “But I never knew of this path past where it comes to Abergavenny, and I have gone hunting with my father many times!”

“I believe you, beloved. But you see, Alexandra-past Abergavenny this path is but an overgrown track through brambles and heather. It has been allowed to become unused. But on the maps of the abbey, it could be seen in its old course and use of a hundred years ago, when there were much traffic and trade in Wales still along that path, going down to the coast as well. Remember that even if this is Norman territory now, a few generations back this was Welsh land, and still is so regarded by the Welsh, no matter that the Normans hold sway now with whip and sword. The Saxons of Aberystwyth, for example, are come in no sooner than two hundred years ago, and in Celtic eyes and in Celtic memory that is a short time indeed.”

“One who knows would scramble down that path through gorse and heather and go to Lancaster with easily avoiding Abergavenny.” Gromell had crossed his arms, sure now. He knew the ways of poachers and other folk that preferred the dark to walk around.

“True. Remember also: two generations back that was Carraig castle, which had some importance as a trading seat, taking tolls, if I remember correctly.”

“You do”, Alexandra answered unexpectedly. “But how do you know?”

“Father abbot’s books. I had a look at the landscape around us to learn the likelihood of the ways people go, and the plague with them if we were not as lucky fighting the sickness as we had been.”

Atlan took a deep breath. “So, it is quite possible, even probable, that your father is involved in this affair, whatever this affair might be about, and that he has been so for a longer time, Alexandra. Which is not to our advantage in solving this matter.”

No, it was not. If Poins of Lancaster was the man these letters were meant to go to, and he was the only one able to read them and send them on where they should go in the end, then they were up against a wall indeed. Poins of Lancaster was the last man the knight from Toulouse and his lennaun wanted to meet right now, and they had cause.

“He cannot be the only one able to read where the letters should go”, the Arkonide added firmly and calmly. “Think of the seeming importance this matter has, and the risk one runs with just one man, and that one no longer young. Accidents happen so quickly. Old people sicken and die-as do the young, to my regret. No. If the one who planned this had any sense to him, he will have left a hole for the mouse to slip through. I will have a look at these letters and will try to read them. Perhaps you can help me with that, Alexandra. After that, we will know more and see our path the clearer.”

Literally. They truly spent almost an hour going through the dead man’s possessions and found the letters sawn into the saddlecloth, under the saddle, and well-cushioned by ample leather. An unlikely place, and fraught with risk-and this was perhaps why that hiding place had been chosen. Upon his person, the Norman had nothing else than a small piece of paper with a devout prayer for Easter, written down by a sketchy hand, by a man who had made several mistakes with the Latin and had mixed up the lines somewhat.

Instinct made Atlan look twice. If Poins could not oblige and help, having fallen ill or being dead, then the key and the lock would have to be brought together in another way. And one never should carry the key and the lock in one purse… 

“The mistakes are the places we are to look at, where our attention is turned”, he said, smiling sharply. “Someone wants us to know that the word “rex” is important because here he writes “Regs”. No sane student of Latin would do that. The usual, normal mistakes committed by such a one would be different ones.”

With interest, Alexandra and Gromell looked at the poor scrap, but their faces showed that they could not discern any meaning from it.

“Later”, the Arkonide promised. “First we have to get away from here and disappear down the road again.”

“We cannot go back to Abergavenny!” Alexandra’s voice held true protest.

Atlan smiled and gave her a kiss. “No, we won’t, and neither will we go near to Lancaster castle. We wanted to pass invisibly before; now, on the contrary, we must be seen elsewhere. Neither can we go directly to the north now, as much I can deduct from this mess. So, let us go east instead, towards Hereford. Isn’t that where your mother came from, Alexandra? Do you have any elderly female relatives there who mean you well?”

She considered. “There’s aunt Winifred, who comes from the Welsh side. A great-aunt once more removed, but she has a kind heart and has been friendly the few times I met her. And then, of course, there is aunt Aldreda.”

The Arkonide raised a white brow at the protracted pause.

“She’s a nun at Leominster and serves as sister infirmartrix at the nun’s priory in town. She’s a rather severe person, as I remember her, but also a very practical one.”

With a little amusement, Atlan murmured:” Neither aunt seems to be in shining favour with you, my love.”

She turned up her open hands. “We have had our fortunes turning down, so my father withdrew from the wider spread family. Aunt Angharad was the closest I had to a friend and a mother, but she lives in Wales, and father had no use for too much prattling and admonitions, as he said.”

Gromell grinned from ear to ear while the Arkonide forced himself to only smile. Some things never seemed to change, not even among the planets and the suns. He could compare to people he had known himself, in his own family…

“Why do you ask about all of this, my love?”

“We need a likely tale.” Atlan held up a finger.

“One, we are involved in this matter of the letters now and must do our best to solve it to the weal of all. Two, we believe that your father is deeply involved also, but we know we cannot ask him, on the contrary. That means we must learn to read the letters on our own and send them on, or even deliver them ourselves. Three, that makes us players in this game, not bystanders. We have the disadvantage of not knowing what is going on and what this is all about, and who takes a part where. On the other hand, this goes both ways. No-one knows that we take a part in this as long as we do not reveal ourselves.   
So, four, that means we cannot go to the north yet as planned, and it is no use to continue on this hidden road. On the contrary, we must be seen elsewhere for us to be out of suspicion of knowing anything about Alan Fitzurse’s death and his mission. And therefore, five, we must go to a place where we make a little stir so that we are remembered to have been there shortly after our elopement. No suspicion must fall on us in connection with these letters and that messenger. At our place of refuge, we will have time to read the letters, discuss the problem, and devise a plan. 

And that place, six, must be one that makes sense for us to go to, or someone will wonder why, for example, we went down to the coast and came back up a week later. And what better reason would we have to depart in haste from Abergavenny than the failed attempt at murder from Surrey’s hand, the carnage we left lying behind us, and Alexandra’s and my elopement? I do not mind playing the villain, since I am the one most responsible for all that has happened. So give the matter a touch of seduction and abduction, of an accident I made evil use of, not letting the woman who warned me go back to her father, but taking her with me, perhaps telling her she was in danger when she was not, or more from me than from anyone else.”

“I said I knew what I consented to when you laid down with me!” 

He leaned forward and took her into his arms lovingly, kissing her deeply. Indulgently the squire looked on. Those two were deeply in love with each other; there was no question of one or the other being guiltier. Initially, it was the Knight’s contrivance and fault, of course, but ever since that hour under the tree they referred to repeatedly it had been compliance and a conspiracy of both. 

When they parted their eyes shone with the joy they felt of each other.

“Let you say that Mathilda grew drowsy with the warm day and the good food and fell asleep, and that I took swift advantage of the situation, and had my will of you, as the tale goes. That makes you an innocent victim. You were ashamed and confused and did not know what to do, and since I had seduced you and bedazzled you, you hesitated to deliver me to sword and noose. But you were afraid of marrying me since I look like I do. Then there came the attack, and you were swept away with me once more.”

“That sounds like you were a villain!”

“No more than many knights are in truth, especially among the Norman gentry. Now let us paint the scene a little gentler. You are sorry, and fear that you cannot ever go back to your father, and do not know what to do. I have become infatuated with you and gave way to your pleadings, my heart gripped by remorse of my evil deed.”

He kissed her again, proving to her that he felt no remorse at all. Breathing deeply and smiling at each other broadly, they parted once more.

“So, there we are, both of us contrite and in need of spiritual advice, and some penance, especially me. I do not cherish harsh sermons, by the way, because I do not believe in these principles of the church, but for the sake of a little playacting, I will contritely listen even to a harangue. You can go to an aunt of yours to seek solace and advice as well. Then we have made our stir and can depart officially to a place that seems convenient to our plans and take it from there. And no-one will think of us being involved in a matter of a treaty in the north. The one who wants to stay hidden keeps from drawing attention. But if we do draw attention and stand out, we will be overlooked if the hidden one is looked for.”

Alexandra smiled impishly while Gromell laughed out loud, guffawing. He noticed that his master looked downright cheerful with all those tangles, and remarking upon that he was told that his master had reason for cheer: he had won his lady’s heart and her companionship, had defeated the plague, and had bested an enemy, and could do a good deed further with this tangle perhaps peacefully solved.

“Apart from that, this is an interesting situation”, Atlan added, his eyes sparkling.

“One must be a knight, I believe, to love fighting so, and adventure”, Gromell sighed, while Alexandra watched her beloved speculatively. 

“I see how you would show me the world”, she said with a wicked smile. “With getting yourself involved in matters that are tangled, mysterious, dangerous, and therefore irresistibly alluring!”

In mock helplessness, the Arkonide held up his open hands. “What would you have me do instead?” he asked. “Bury the man, take the letters, and hand them over to the next sheriff? In spite of the word I gave to a dying man? You were witnesses to how this came about!”

“Nah”, Gromell simply said, waving the suggestion aside, and Alexandra even rose to the defence of the scheme, speaking about thousands of lives that might be saved and the sanctity of a word given, especially to a dying man, and confirming that under the circumstances her lover could not have acted otherwise than giving that word. Any action else would have been the act of a coward and a villain and a knave, and unworthy of a knight.

Atlan listened gravely, but with laughter in his eyes, as his squire well saw. He had arranged this sermon he got as well, the scoundrel, and had his spouse’s full support after. Thousands of years of age did not necessarily make a man fully grown up and wise. But perhaps awfully cunning.

So, they took the letters, that scrap of paper, and all their belongings, and had the wolf cavorting across the place of their camp after, effectively confusing any traces that still might be found. 

Riding back along the path but for a short while they veered off at the first opportunity and went on through the brush at a slow but determined pace. The tracks they left closed soon in the lush undergrowth, and by afternoon they were at the edge of the woods, dirty, sweaty, and exhausted, but well content with their progress. Any watcher would be hard put to say where they had come from exactly, and if that direction was Abergavenny and the carnage left there, then all the better. They could have hidden in the wild woods and the bushes for the last day in the hope of escaping Surrey of Mowbray for good. Alexandra changed into female garb again and was secretly glad of it. She had not gotten used to wearing leather hose and men’s shirt yet, no matter how practical it might be riding through a wood and brambles.

To Hereford, there was some distance to cross still, and they stopped for the night at an inn, where they began to realize their plan with Alexandra demanding a single room with a somewhat hysterical voice, and her beloved, with an irritated manner, conceding that to her. The absence of a maid was suspicious, and so was the behaviour of the lady who shot the bolt of her room the moment she had closed the door. The knight stood in front of that door for minutes, knocking and speaking softly but in an angry tone, well watched by the serving maid and a porter, and only after some time left for his own chamber, his face clouded and sour. So, the little stirring they had planned to make was well begun.

Not to have Alexandra at table was depressing enough. But hope lived, and they had agreed to meet in the night. He would slip over to her door as soon as no-one watched anymore.

Gromell served his master silently, letting him think. But presently he said:” Atlan-you know she is too clever for it.”

The Arkonide looked up, surprised.“Too clever for what?” 

“To believe for much longer that you are just a knight from lands very far away.”

Atlan sighed. “I know”, he murmured. “I had planned to keep things simple. Ride to the north, keep out of every trouble, just the three of us staying together. Then meet the knights and their ladies at Diarmuid Faighe, negotiate matters successfully, and settle down there for a time, getting to know each other even better in surroundings where my oddities are common. I thought that there I could tell my story to Alexandra too.   
But the world is not simple and does not turn according to my wishes. Instead, I am back in the thick of events, another civil war brewing after all the devastation this fight between King Stephen the usurper and Queen Maude, the rightful but female heir has wrought. It has been going on for fourteen years now and has not ended officially yet, though most of the fighting seems done between Stephen and Maude’s followers. But an alliance in the north means the involvement of King David of Scotland, Gromell.

Ranulf of Chester and David have been at each other’s throats with tooth and nail, and that enmity will not easily subside. The marcher lords will watch keenly which way the wind blows; and the involvement of someone like Poins of Lancaster tells me that the shires of the north just wait for a chance. They loved Henry, and Henry’s grandson of the same name has every chance to be acclaimed by them. And then-Poins is not only a connection to the north. He is a connection to Wales, and, in my opinion, the one who will throw a line between Scotland and Wales again. At Lincoln, the Welsh fought against Stephen and took their own, and they will again try for such a chance. One must wait, though, which way Ranulf will jump, who has had the plan to attack Wales before. It is a roiling pot, Gromell, and it is steaming just between me and my goal. With David coming to Carlisle you can lay any bet that the knights of Diarmuid Faighe either accompany him or wait at his back. And if they throw in their means, the matter will become truly tangled.”

“Saint Dunstan! Why do you have to play a part in this at all, Atlan?” The squire sounded exasperated.

“Because my help is needed “, the Arkonide answered quietly. “Because that is the word I gave to mankind long ago, that I would care for this Earth and its people, protect them and teach them, and aid them in their need. If lives can be saved and I am called to help, I must do so, and-first of all my duty it is to protect mankind from any danger that comes from a world different from this. If Tayac and his knights lose their nerves and unleash all their powers we have an unearthly war up there in the north, with Maude’s son Henry FitzEmpress and Ranulf of Chester swept into the melée. Have you ever seen houses and castles ripped asunder by flashes that burn even the stone? That is what’s waiting up there in the north, Gromell, and the matter is no longer just an alluring adventure then anymore. That, too, I am out to prevent in this matter of the letters.”

“I see.” The squire was very serious now. “The matter of the letters is just one issue of many.”

“Yes, but a central one, tied in with everything else. I am not keen to have to call up stronger powers to combat those Tayac can bring to bear if he refuses to cooperate and would oppose me.”

“Could you?” Gromell asked breathlessly and saw his friend only grimace. But suddenly he was sure. Another kind of war might be threatening which would throw into shadow anything humans ever had done. Holy Mother Mary-this was like the tale of the young man who went out to go look for a giant, slept in a small cave and the next day found out that he had had his bed in the nose of the giant, who moreover was just waking.

Decisively the red-eyed knight looked up then. “I must talk to her this very night”, he said. “With you and me a relationship and friendship are one thing. A relationship like I have it with Alexandra is a quite different matter. I owe her the truth and the true reason why I cannot marry her. As well-one day she will grow old and die, and I will stay young at her side. Have you thought of that aspect yet, Gromell?”

Open-mouthed the young man shook his head.

“I have, and too often”, Atlan said bitterly. “As much as I can do, true miracles still are left to God alone. I have no right to bind her to me in love if only harm comes to her of that later, and bitter sorrow. She must be able to choose freely and know what she chooses for, all of it.”

Slowly the squire shook his head again, a little sadly. “Watching the two of you, my friend”, he softly said,” I fear that you are bound to each other already, with nothing able to tear that bond of deep love apart. And I believe-I hope, I pray-that love like that can defeat every hurdle that still stands between you.”

They looked at each other long and clearly, and then the Arkonide lowered his head. “I believe that you are right”, he murmured and hid his face in his hands for a moment. But then he rose again.

“We’ll need a mouthful of wine or two for such long stories”, he said, a little more cheerfully, and went to get two cups and a flask.

Alexandra opened immediately upon the scratching at her door and flew into the arms of her lover, who swiftly put down a flask of wine and let fall two cups, and took her into his arms firmly and so lovingly their thoughts had room for nothing else but one another.

Clothes went flying, and breathless gasps sounded as they began to caress passionately, no longer aware of anything else but each other. Sinking upon the bed with her Atlan entered his love-mate and began to thrust into her strongly while she held on to him, drawing him down as close as she could, and softly whimpered with pleasure. They had to be quiet and careful that no-one heard, this time.

But pleasure and passion rose in mighty waves nevertheless, and they writhed in the bed, gasping, and softly moaning. With every stroke of his into her vale, Alexandra’s lust was mounting, making her shiver and gasp, her hips undulating automatically, which gave her lover such a passionate feeling he had to whimper softly too. Gods, this was such a joy-oh, how he loved this woman, whose green eyes shone with the same passion that he felt-

“Atlan, Atlan, my love, oh, come to me, oh, please-oh, Atlan”, she whispered, and then she shivered with the wonderful climax shuddering through her body, making her tremble from her toes to her head, where he kissed her opened lips so rousingly. He growled deep in his throat as he came too, holding on to her strongly, and then they relaxed, breathing deeply, and began to caress each other lovingly. Both wanted more, and none of them was tired yet.

Later they smooched tenderly, feeling their naked bodies against each other’s, already familiar and acquainted with each other, and still, everything seemed new. They had just started to get to know each other. 

He got up, and brought the flask, and handed her a cup of wine. She cocked her head and smiled, comfortably settling back into the cushions. She understood that he wanted to tell her something. In the light of the big candle on the table, his eyes seemed to throw golden sparks.

“Alexandra.” The Arkonide took a deep breath. “There is much I must tell you, about me, and what I do upon this world of men. Some things you have already noticed and seen about me, but they are part of a larger picture. It is true that I am different from other knights, and from other men. How much different, though, I have not told you yet.”

He took another deep breath. Surprisingly, it was much harder for him to explain to Alexandra than it had been to tell Gromell. He did not want to lose her, and yet he was risking exactly that, telling her the truth. But still, that was better than keep playacting and hiding things from her. She was worth it, in every way, and was owed truth and honesty.  
She smiled a little and cocked her head, looking up at him. Seeing how hard it was for him to find the right words she simply got up and gently kissed him, lovingly, and was kissed back in the same manner.

“Now that was not the way an evil man would act, who has given his soul to the devil to win the powers of a sorcerer, or whose heart is full of evil thoughts”, she said gently, withdrawing a little to look up fully into his face.

“I have noticed that some things are truly different with you, my love. For example, I have found out that your animals speak to you and understand you as a man would, and you can call them to you from afar.”

He was taken aback. “And you were not afraid?”

“At the beginning, a little, yes”, she simply admitted. “But as I got to know you better and came closer to you, I found your heart full of love and you a gentle and considerate man, much more so than any other man I know. You are special indeed, and different from all the others. I know that you can do magic, not just mixing healing potions. You use your powers in a fight as well. But that would only frighten me with an evil man. You are not such a one, and the way you look is so-natural for you, I believe.”

Atlan felt his eyes widen. That was something no human had ever said to him like that!

She blushed a little, and a little defiantly said:” To a Saxon or a Norman, who knows nothing, your looks might seem to be a sign of your trafficking with the devil. But I am not entirely Saxon, you know. My mother was halfway Welsh, and my grandmother was it fully to the core. My great-aunt Angharad told me many stories when I was little. I even know the language still. You see, Atlan- any Celt would know you for what you possibly are when he sees red eyes and white hair upon a man whose face is young, but whose gaze is deep and speaks of the experience he has and the time he has seen go by. And if that is true for you, then-“ she swallowed and sat up straighter on the bed’s edge, all enticingly naked still, as was he, as naked as their gazes were trained at each other, hiding nothing this time, open to each other in every way. This was an hour of truth indeed.

“Then Arrow and Falco talking is natural to them too because the laws of the human world do not apply to them. If that is true for you as well, then-then you are not human, and not mortal, and older than you look like to my eyes, and are not evil at all or to be feared even when you make use of the most powerful magic, because you do not need the devil to reach for it-because you are born to it then, within your own world.”

She swallowed again and continued softly:” And then-if all of that was true-I also know the true reason why you cannot offer to wed me. Then-you probably are not even baptized and perhaps do not feel comfortable in a church. Not because you are evil, but because some of the demands the clerics make on us-the severe and loveless clerics of Noman brood-are against true nature and against the true law of God.” She looked up a little shyly, and added:” Aunt Angharad said so, and listening to some bishops of the Normans I can but agree.”

Atlan simply had to sit down. This was a bit much now for him. He took a deep drink from his cup and found his inner balance again. Gods-the young woman was so much more observant than anyone would have credited her for her looks! When beauty went hand in hand with wits and a loving heart it could become almost divine.

“Am I right?” Alexandra asked softly, her voice shaking a little now. The whole matter was too grave for her to be easy and firm with it.

“In almost every aspect”, he answered, bowing to her a little. “But keep in mind, please, Alexandra-my personal story is much different from what fairy tales tell, which are fantasies. I am real, and truly not to be feared.”

She smiled, becoming surer of herself again. “That you are real I can but confirm”, she said with a half-laugh and was taken into his arms and kissed so sensually that she could but sigh and even moan a little. 

Laughing they parted again to have a little drink. 

“No, any Welsh woman knows that the fair folk are just and pure in their hearts, and friends to men and beasts-if one doesn’t attack them or tries to hurt them. They abhor greed and lies especially. On the other hand, women were warned in the olden times to have too much to do with one of the fair folk, because they were said to be a little wanton and disregarding of Christian morals and chastity, and were said to indulge in love, being able to seduce any maid they set their heart on. Well, I cannot dispute that.” She sent him a loving and playful look.

The Arkonide choked on his wine. “I think that I must tell you my true story”, he said. “The one that is behind human legends about me and my kin.”

They snuggled down in the bed again, comfortably lying in each other’s arms, and now Atlan had no trouble any longer to tell his human lovemate the true story of his life, much as he had told it to Gromell.

It was early in the morning when he slipped back to his chamber, not even troubling to dress yet, carrying his clothes over his arm. Gromell lifted a heavy eyelid, murmured an unintelligible greeting, and slept on, while the Arkonide, wide awake now and his heart and mind too full to sleep, lay in his bed and stared up to the ceiling, a smile on his lips. The blessing of all the Gods upon that Welsh grandmother! After he had told his story Alexay had said but a few words, declaring that she had known that he was a good man, and as to his age-for that he could exert himself well enough still!

Laughing they had started caressing once more, and had made love again, slowly, and indulgently and trying out something new, which-and his caresses, for sure-had made Alexandra stammer and whimper with passion and pleasure. He liked it immensely when she lost control, writhing and moaning, and the feelings he got then, feeling her vale contract-Gods. He had lost his head then as well, completely, and had not cared for being silent any longer. Let the fools think that he had forced her door and taken her despite her wishes, like the careless noble lout whom he was going to imitate. 

In the morning Alexandra appeared pale as a martyred maiden in the taproom-which she was impersonating in truth-and looked ahead of herself in cool dignity, not deigning to acknowledge the red-eyed knight’s presence, who ignored her behaviour for a time till he angrily hissed a few words at her which made the girl shrink into herself, lowering her head and beginning to sniffle.

Atlan was taken by sheer admiration. Every woman seemed to be good at play-acting, and Alexandra was no exception. Her paleness had even made him worry for a moment till she had whispered to him that she had rubbed off a little chalk from the wall to lighten her lively complexion.

“For God Almighty’s sake, woman!” he bellowed so loudly that everyone in the taproom flinched and did so again when he let his fist crash onto the table. “Spare me your watery antics! Tears won’t change anything!”

“If your deportment changed, Sir, that would change something in truth!” Despite her tearful face the lady showed some firmness and resolve.

The Arkonide glared at her, which posture was the more intimidating for the colour of his eyes. Demonstratively sniffling louder Alexandra rose to the challenge and defiantly stared back, and between sobs declared:” Your manners are execrable, Sir, and what else is also you will hear in good time!”

“Counting manners we are at least a good match, my lady!” the knight said in a cutting voice, and then snapped at his squire that the knave should move his lazy Saxon arse and serve some proper ale a morning, he had drunk his fill of milk at his mother’s breast and had no inkling for more. 

Gromell ducked his head and moved with speed, and inwardly thanked God that his master was vastly different from the lout he portrayed at the moment. From the sparkle in his knightly friend’s eyes, he knew that the immortal prince from the stars was enjoying himself hugely now, playing his role with dedication.

Grumpily Atlan shoveled millet gruel into his mouth and growled to the landlord for a proper piece of butter to flavour it, he wouldn’t eat like a Saxon who was not used to better than his swine!

Despite the roles they were all playing Gromell felt his cheeks redden. But he schooled his face to impassiveness and swiftly fetched the butter. Terrible manners and loud yelling seemed to be something people took from a knight without resistance. The landlord seemed to be halfway in fear and surely would be no help, but he would remember, and tell his tale later if anyone asked.

“Eat, my lady, we have some distance to cross still till I can hand you off to your relatives!” the knight growled at the lady who began to weep at that in earnest and was grudgingly handed a cloth to wipe her face. 

“Take heart then that you’ll be rid of me too”, he angrily said as he stood some minutes later.

“And I shall thank God on my knees for that!” she snapped back, her tears dried, and her anger wakened. “And as for the damage that never can be undone- “

“For that, I’ll pay up penny and shilling, my lady, and be glad I am honourable enough not to count in your carelessness!”

“Mine! By God, Sir, that you are shameless enough to- “

“Enough!” That bellow let Alexandra shrink back in truth and stopped her words effectively. Her gentle and fiery lover turned on his heel with a darkened face and went off with long strides, letting her almost run after him, and growled something about useless folk in skirts as he mounted his horse and frowned at her as she came up, mustering as much dignity as she could.

“Time it is, my lady, that you think hard about your prospects now, and how to spend them!” he said sharply.

“What is done is done, and best it were to come to terms instead of rousing the whole countryside and whirling up a lot of dust! In the end, you will be the one left standing with her gown all ruined!”

The allusions were blatant and hard to miss. Alexandra drew herself up to all her height and replied with dignity: “And time it were too, Sir Knight, that you reflected on your deeds and your honour and what kind of actions could be expected of an honourable knight!”

At that, he frowned fiercely and glared, but he also bit his lip, plainly for all to see who with curiosity listened to the contending couple.

Wordlessly he led on then, politely waiting for the lady this time, and they left the inn in order and with some better dignity than they had shown in the taproom.

Round the bend and out of sight Atlan turned in the saddle and ruefully bowed to his lady love and his squire.

“Forgive me, my love. I hope I did not get carried away too much.” He reached over to take and kiss her hand. She smiled, involuntarily relieved no matter she had known that he was play-acting.

“You did your part well. As I hope that did I.”

“Perfectly well, my lady actress. I was most impressed.”

Gromell grinned and was given a wordless salute by his master and friend, and could not forego remarking:” You have modeled your conduct from what others do very well, Atlan my friend-and bear in mind that a true Norman knight of the kind you played would have used his fists as well on me or would have kicked me in my lazy Saxon arse. So, you do not need to be too remorseful.”

“Act the first, concluded successfully. Comes the second one. Which aunt should we aim for?”

“Both of them, I think. I do not know which one first-if we find any of them at all on that short a notice.” Alexandra bit her lip, frowning. 

“So that means that we look for the worldly one first. She cannot help you in truth and will in fact be only a shoulder to cry on. As for the sister in orders-if matters went naturally in such a case as ours, you would retreat to her cloister fast as you could ride and walk, if I permitted it, if you were done with me. But that would not leave another course open for you than the veil, in the end. The second choice would be to arrange matters and come to terms, third to accuse me before bishop and king’s sheriff and take it from there. A man like me, anyway, not owning land or home in this country, would not wait for the sheriff to come to him then, and would ride away in time. You would be left with nothing but a soiled reputation, and you are too clever to take such a chance. Officially we’ll have to come to terms.”

They looked at each other thoughtfully. Atlan moved his horse into a trot again at the side of his lady, and slowly they rode on.

“Marriage would be the most sensible way out for both of us, of course”, the young woman said, “if matters were-as they look like on the surface.”

“Yes.” He threw her a long look, and she felt pierced by his gaze and then warmed all over by the tenderness of it. Their eyes held each other’s, and their hands reached out across the gulf between them and their horses and held fast between them.

“I understand, of course, why it cannot be.” She smiled, and his grip tightened, then he let go again. By his slight frown, looking ahead, she knew that he was thinking hard on the matter. Last night they had talked about it too.

But there was no way for them to wed in truth but one-and that he would never do, for he would have to let himself be baptized first, and therefore would become a member of the Christian Church, of the Church of Rome, and would be subject to a human then, the pope. That simply was impossible, since he would have to confess to the priests who and what he was, or he would have to lie, and he was too honest to make a game or a play of such matters. If he gave his word he had to abide by it and keep it, come what might, and to her, he had already given his word that he would be hers alone as long as she was with him, and was his, and that he would never abandon her and always provide for her-a husband promised no more, and often did less. The only difference was that she was not his wife in the eyes of the world and had to bear that shame. But so did other women for the sake of love, and so could she. He was worth it every moment of the life she spent with him.

They halted at a place where a brook came close to the road, running lively and ready to water the horse, and saw the grey walls of Hereford in the distance. An hour’s ride or two if they went slowly, no more. Gromell handed out bread and cheese and tasty little sausages and regretfully remarked that he had no butter.

At that, the Arkonide laughed and said that he had had butter enough this morning, and had no need for more today, while there was something else he’d have need of-at least this night. With a long look at his beloved, he took her hand and kissed it and saw her blush fiercely.   
The squire rolled his eyes but forewent commenting. His master was prudent enough not to do anything people might see in public, especially not after the scene at the inn this morning; and here on the road, they were out in the open indeed.

Sitting down on a convenient boulder Atlan explained:” I have had a thought or two upon this matter of reconciliation between us, officially, my love. Originally, on our way to the north unseen, how matters stood between us in the eyes of the world would have been no matter to anyone. But now, in this changed situation, it is, and very much so. In my proposal of our plans yesterday I left out the logical consequences to happen if we do as I said-me feeling remorse, you fearing to wed me and still unable to go back to your father, both of us contrite and not really knowing what to do. I said this morning that we would have to come to terms officially, and that is perfectly true for every conceivable reason. I have not had a look at these letters yet, but from what I know about the overall political situation I can but deduce that I will have to be the messenger to ride into Wales and deliver these letters. They cannot but be addressed to the princes of Powys and Gwynedd, in short, I believe that I will have to invite Madog ap Maredudd of Powys and Owain Mawr of Gwynedd to that meeting with Ranulf of Chester and David of Scotland. Madog will be no problem. He has been at Lincoln to fight at Ranulf’s side against King Stephen before, together with Cadwaladr, the brother of Owain.

But this is where the catch lies. Owain and his brother are opponents if not enemies, and Cadwaladr with his marauders acted against his brother the king’s orders and wishes. He was deprived of his lands in consequence, fled to Ireland to get himself a Danish fleet, and five years ago attacked Gwynedd with the help of the Danes of Dublin. He failed and is on the run now and has found exile in England. Do you know what Owain will say when he hears who would be his allies in this matter? On the other hand, he cannot ignore these developments.

In short, I will have to go on a most tricky mission, and probably will have to do my best to contribute to a treaty struck, and peace made on all sides, later. For such purposes, I will have to appear at the kings’ and princes’ courts, as an envoy and an intermediary. A strange knight from the Holy Land who moreover is a minstrel might be accepted by all as a neutral person, who, being landless in England, will not be suspected of complicity with anyone. That kind of role might work out.  
In consequence- “

The Arkonide paused. Alexandra, who had sat down on another boulder almost opposite to him, continued.

“In consequence-you will need my procurance and intercession in Wales, when you cannot have my father’s, with my grandmother’s family to get to the Welsh courts in secret, gaining access to the princes at all. And in further consequence-you can in all honour and good reputation appear at the courts of these princes with your wife, but not with your lennaun.”

“Yes.” Atlan inclined his head, and the young woman bowed hers and bit her lip, while Gromell frowned and crossed his arms.

“I cannot and I will not lie in matters as grave as faith and the Creator Himself, not even for the sake of making peace among humans and preventing a war –or several wars of several kinds, at that. Whatever I do or say must be true in that regard. For the known reasons, I cannot reveal myself to the human Catholic church or moreover hand myself over to the authority of a mortal like the pope. So, we cannot marry as adherents to that religion, as Christians.”

Alexandra nodded and looked at her lover helplessly. She knew, and they did not know how to solve the problem.

“Yet there are other ways to honourably marry, though, and that even in the eyes or your English or Welsh human world, I believe.”

Eyes widened, and Alexandra’s lips opened in unvoiced hope.

“Celtic nations always have had marriage sealed before and by a judge besides the one conducted with a religious ceremony. That marriage could be for life, or for three years, or a year and a day. It is called a Brehon marriage in Erin and Scotland, and a dyfarnydd marriage in Wales.”

With eyes lighting up Alexandra of Lancaster nodded, too overwhelmed to speak right now. Her lover seemed to contemplate true marriage to her! And that after all they had spoken about, and him not human or mortal and thousands of years old-

“The English-meaning the Saxons, and even the Normans, have adopted the custom, since they had one like it in Normandy, being kin to the north. They call such a marriage a handfasting, and it is as legal and binding and true as any wedding in church.”

“The Saxon handfasting is, aye”, Gromell threw in, speaking slowly and in thought. “It is so near a wedding in church that it is for life too. Church costs money, a priest will not do anything if he is not paid well, especially if you have but a Norman priest in a parish. So many people only have married in a handfasting. But that is something almost only for Saxons because it is something for the poor. A noble or knight is not.”

The Arkonide grinned. “Or he had another reason that he cannot wed in church-like when he is banned from certain beneficiaries.”

Gromell frowned. “You mean like excommunicated, Atlan? But that will make you even less acceptable to the princes and the clergy!”

“Not excommunicated, no. But here Toulouse comes in.” The triumphant smile of her beloved made Alexandra’s heart soar.

“Toulouse, with its tolerance toward heresy, is a thorn in the side of the church and the pope. Its new count Raymond is at open enmity with the church and therefore has been banned with the so-called provisional ban by his archbishop with his entire household and his liege lords. Further, he was threatened with the full ban of the church, has softened with the ban put on hold, then has made trouble again-in short, cardinals and bishops and the pope of the Catholic Church of Rome will not be lenient or forthcoming with any man from Toulouse, on the contrary, to vex the count and the town they will do what they can to make such a man pay in the stead of the count who is too powerful and for political reasons cannot be struck too harshly.

A simple knight like me from a less exalted family from Toulouse is easy prey for the Roman clergy, and on me, the ban can be executed as a warning and in the overlord’s stead. Personally, I might be innocent of any heresy or of countenancing it upon my lands and in my house, and neither will I be fully banned nor excommunicated just for being count Raymond’s vassal, since the full ban of the church has not been laid upon him and his lands yet, and likely never will be. Therefore, I might attend mass or confess. But, for example, I will not be given communion, and neither will I be married by a priest in church, no matter that I might have been a pilgrim in the Holy Land or might have fought in a crusade. To be precise, I will be under the bannum adnegationis beneficiorum, as it is called.

Which fact exempts me from any performance in church or religiously otherwise which I could not accept since that would have been a lie. To stay through service and watch it, listening, is not the same thing as actively taking part in it. I believe that in these conditions I can circumvent the obstacles we saw before.”

He smiled very tenderly at his beloved and stood, bowing to her, and holding his hands out to her, taking hers into his.

“Which brings us to the conclusion of the matter. Lady Alexandra of Lancaster, I will not expect an answer from you yet. Take time to think upon the matter first, and remember what you would commit yourself to-not only me personally, who is not human and not mortal and who has slept for hundreds of years beneath the sea-but also to the duty I have towards all of your people, Christian and Muslim and Buddhist alike, all over your world. I cannot and I will not care only for the English, or the Welsh, at that, and I will not use my power to the advantage solely of one human, or a group of them because they are your family or your people. Or let me rephrase that: I will not use it to the benefit only of one group while another but suffers from it. I am here to protect and teach all humans, and I would hope my wife-and my friend, if he can-to partake in this as well. That set first as a given, Alexandra-let me ask you this:

Will you marry me within the month in handfasting for the time of our life together, my beloved lady?”

She had risen, her cheeks had flushed, and her eyes, wide and sparkling green, shone with joy and wonder.

“My beloved man, prince of the Crystal World, Atlan of Arkon-I do not think that I need to consider for long. I knew what I consented to, when you lay down with me, my love, and have begun to wonder-and to suspect-ever since I saw you up close at the tournament, and you proposed to me that spectacularly, never a trace of doubt or question in your voice. You knew what would come for us, and you spoke to me like never a man did before. I think that I knew in my heart what you were even then. But before I would answer, tell me this, my love, and tell me true: Do you really want me, Atlan?”

He smiled very warmly, and then very solemnly replied:

“Alexandra my love, I want you more than the sun wants the moon, more than a fish needs the river, more than a heart needs to beat. You are all that I desire.”

She could not know that it was an ancient Celtic formula that he had quoted, but it had done its work: he had conveyed his meaning well, he saw. Her eyes were swimming in tears, and she was slightly trembling.

“Then I have nothing else to say than that I agree, and that I will marry you within the month in handfasting for the time of our life together, my beloved lord Atlan of Arkon!”

Wordlessly he took her into his arms and kissed her, deeply and lovingly, and she threw her arms around him and responded in kind, the world forgotten to them, as it seemed.  
Gromell smiled and watched, feeling gratified immensely to have been witness to the sealing of such a bond, and then quietly turned to the packs and got out the flask with wine and the cups. They had reason to celebrate now in truth!  
\+ + + 

Elsewhere, a young man assiduously studied with his master and teacher. 

“This is the spell to charm a bird to your hand.” 

Seemingly all alone the young noble sat on a fallen tree-trunk in the woods, facing a clearing and a lively streamlet running through it, and listened avidly, concentrating on the prompting of his teacher and repeating the words of the spell after him, murmuring softly. Inside, he watched and felt clearly what that spell was doing to his mind.

“It’s all in the mind”, the teacher said, repeating a dictum they had started with on their first day together. It was true, the young man had learned by his own experience since. The skill to charm animals and call them to him, and to look deeply into their eyes, feeling out their simple minds with no consciousness of self, had proven to be something he could master soon and swiftly. The spells helped to control and direct his own power of mind and soul, and made him much stronger and much more efficient, though he had not had to go to a crossroads and conjure the devil in a circle drawn with coal and blood. His teacher had laughed at notions like that and had mysteriously spoken of the Old Gods instead, using names like the Morrigan or bloodied Scatach, the warrior woman. Tethra should be the God he should appeal to, and Balor was the ancient lord whom he should look to and whom he should learn from.

He was only one young and as yet untaught man, he knew it, and his powers were small and pitiful compared to what his master could bring to bear when he had been at the height of his rule. Yet, he was studying hard and learning, and his powers grew step by step and day by day. Together, he and his master would grow to be formidable, and rule as his master once had done. Already the young man knew how mastery of others felt, how it made one feel supreme and great. It was only birds as yet, whom he could charm to his hand and then look into their minds, and then he could let them fly and see through their eyes. The spell lasted only for a few minutes, and the bird must not fly farther than he could see with his own eyes. But it was a first step accomplished, his master reassured him. They had to be patient, and work hard and be diligent, and what had been impossible yesterday would be easy tomorrow.

The robin he had charmed flew up and circled above the clearing, and with eyes wide open and staring into seeming nothingness the young man looked through its eyes and saw the forest around him. They even got to see the meadows beyond and the high tower of the castle and behind it, the waters of the loch as the bird flew ever higher. He could see it only as a small speck against the blue sky as it went, but that was sufficient for him by now. Below its wings there was a deer passing through the trees, almost silently and hard to discern. But he knew now where he must go hunting it and catch it.

The robin veered off to the east, and the bond between them broke as the distance became too great to cross with his mind. There was much he still had to learn, he was aware of that, as he silently stood and walked into the direction where he should encounter the deer. There was no hurry. Once he had seen it and their eyes had met, the animal would no longer be able to run and escape. He only needed to get near to it quietly and cautiously.

Moving like he could do it now-ways taught by his master also, following the training a young Fian of the ancient Celtic kings had gone through-the young huntsman crept through the forest silently and encountered the doe after a short time. It was passing through a hedge of brambles and went slowly and was not even spooked by him appearing from behind a massive tree. 

Their eyes met. Whispering the spell under his breath and concentrating deep down the young man captivated the deer’s spirit with ease, and held it enthralled as he walked nearer now, cautiously stepping between the thorns.

Within his own mind, the master rose and took his body over as the young man eased back his own consciousness. The whole process went with dexterity and familiarity by now, and they had become deft at mind-working together. Of course, it was the master who knew it all and could do so much more than his untrained pupil could do. 

The doe’s eyes were deep and quiet, and the animal did not even flinch as the huntsman drew his dagger and slew it by a single stroke to the throat, drinking in the deer’s energies of life and its death, absentmindedly licking his lips as he cleaned the dagger upon the silky pelt and put it away. 

It was a pity that one could not take an animal slain in such a manner home to the castle and boast of one’s mastery at hunting, the young man thought with regret as he let his consciousness flow back into his body, feeling his hands and feet and wriggling his fingers to confirm his mastery of them the while the master drew back gracefully, feeling stronger once again.

The master needed nourishment, and whatever magic he wrought with his own mind and substance cost him because he no longer was upheld and fed by a material body of his own. The young man could lend his own strength to him, but that exchange could only go so far. If he gave too much, he broke down and became ill. They had found that out right at the beginning, and never would be careless enough to let it happen again. To keep the young body they both lived in healthy and strong must be their primary task now.

As they walked away, the corpse of the doe behind them began to attract flies and sent off the first wave of smell. The flesh of the animal would rot within an hour now, bereft of the energies of life it still would have had else. By tomorrow little more than the bones and a bit of brittle hair would be left, looking like the animal had died a year ago. Such was the power the master had!

Of course, the master would have preferred to eat the lives of men. That was much more satisfactory and gave far more strength, and let the master and his power grow in truth, and would add to his own powers considerably, the young man knew. But as yet, he was too weak to be able to stomach a human life taken. Not by his physical body or his mind, which had become greedy and ravenous as he felt his master’s feelings together with him. But his soul was too weak for it still and would need more time to adapt and accept the deaths they caused, and not just to accept but to revel in killing. They had been lucky that it had only been a small beggar boy whose life they had tried to take the first time. That boy had been beaten and abused and starved and had offered little resistance. But he had not gone quietly and gladly and would still have wanted to live, which had been the catch.

The young man had fallen retching and shivering at the feet of the corpse whose blood had stuck to his dagger and had felt as if the steel had entered his own heart. He had not learned to distance himself from the killing and their taking in of a life yet, and he had felt the boy’s death almost like his own. He would have to harden his soul considerably before they dared to do a like deed again, the master had said resignedly after they had recovered and managed to stumble away. 

It was a matter of consciousness first, of course. He did very well with animals who had no sense of self. A human being had it and was too big a bite to eat for him as he was now. But the master was going to try next with a baby, he had said. Now and then there were such, abandoned and given to the church in anonymity, laid in a basket down at the church’s door for the priest to find and bring it to the abbey. Babies in their first year had no great consciousness of themselves yet and might be the right food, easy and light, to start with.

Back in the clearing, the master announced that they would do some more exercises on starting a fire. It made the young man proud that the master considered him ready to try his hand at this, literally. The master, of course, had been able to throw flashes with his very hands and set a stack of wood on fire but with his pure glance. He would never be as able, sadly to say, but there was hope the master had of him still.

He sat down on his tree trunk and gathered a small heap of dry old leaves, interspersed with tiny twigs of fir full of resin. On top he sprinkled dry leavings of moss and sat back, his eyes gazing into the distance, unseeing, as he tried to see with his mind instead. It was all in the mind, of course.

His elder brother had explained to him that the teachings of the philosophers and of the church were wrong insofar as there were more elements than water and fire, earth, and air. He had talked about what the ancient Greeks had called the atomoi, the smallest bits of matter which no-one could split anymore. In fact, they could be cut asunder if one had the means, though no-one upon this world had those means, not anymore, as their ancestors had had them. But an atomos consisted of parts, what his brother had called electrons and positrons and a core to the thing. There was power everywhere, of these electrons in matter and floating around free even if one could not see them. The flashes of a thunderstorm were the strongest emanations of the kind, and at the castle, they produced like powers with the aid of the underground stream, though the priest at the village church and the abbot down the vale were suspicious of that. Only their own priest at the castle had come to learn and to respect the higher knowledge the masters of the castle had.

But like powers were running through every human body, the master had explained, and they created a field of power, of energy, around every living being. His master called that an aura, or mothú, which meant something one felt strongly. It was full of power and could be strengthened. By its intermediation, one could touch energies that were as invisible to the human eye as that mothú field was. Though, the master had said, he would teach him to see the aura of people and of things when he was more skilled and better trained.

For now, he had to feel his own power and his aura and concentrate upon the tip of his left forefinger. He must draw all his power to that place, and feel his strength, and feel it as warmth, then heat. He must concentrate upon the heat centering a handspan away from his finger, or he would burn himself. Think upon that spot in the air. Let all his power and consciousness flow to that spot. Then lower it to the heap of leaves. Think how hot it was. How all the heat of his body was running there, to that spot. Ignite it. Ignite it. Ignite it.

A small spark like blue fire suddenly appeared, falling upon the dry moss, and kindling it. There was no more than a bit of smoke that immediately vanished again, but it was a start. Sweat was pouring down the young man’s face, but he grinned triumphantly. This was the first time anything like that had happened and had been manifested by him!  
Taking a deep breath, he went back to concentrating. He would not go home today before he had made this small fire going, he promised himself and his master. They would have to eat another deer or a few hares also before they left once more for the castle, to replenish the strength they were spending now. But this was worth every effort!

The young man took another deep breath and went on with his work. The day that he could do this upon the spur of a moment, his master assured him, was not too far off.


End file.
